


Prompt Phils

by MercurialMagpie



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Artist Steve Rogers, Gen, M/M, One Shot Collection, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2017-06-21
Packaged: 2018-11-08 21:22:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11090172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercurialMagpie/pseuds/MercurialMagpie
Summary: Getting back into writing, picking up prompts from wherever. Send me an ask/PM/comment with a prompt, I might write something! Mostly Stony or non-ship.(No Coulson in any of these yet, I just couldn't resist the pun. I do ship C/C, though, so I might write something, sometime...)





	1. Clouds in My Coffee

**Author's Note:**

> This prompt: foggy mornings
> 
> Also, I... have a tumblr? I haven't been using it much, but these are going to be posted there first, so feel free to check out thenextromana.tumblr.com

Steve loved foggy mornings. Well, at least, he did now. Pre-serum, he'd kind of hated them, the way they made his chest rattle and his joints ache. But now, they were almost magical. He would wake up for his morning run, and look out the penthouse windows at a sea of gray below him, the scattering of other skyscrapers creating a metal archipelago. He would kiss Tony, who usually barely stirred, pull on sweats and sneakers, and head down to street level.

Manhattan was never truly silent, but these mornings came close. The fog hung low, muffling the yells of delivery drivers and the honks of early cabs, cutting visibility to nearly nothing. Steve knew his route well enough to follow it even without landmarks, so it tended to turn into a little adventure, people looming out of the mist just in time to be dodged, the jewel-like effect of the traffic and walk/don't walk lights seeming almost like a church's stained glass windows.

As he warmed up, so the city would warm up around him, more movement and activity, the sun rising, the fog thinning. (Those were the moments when he most noticed the difference in air quality. Nobody burned coal anymore, and there weren't any factories in the city itself. Even with his improved lungs, he was much happier breathing modern air.) By the time he headed home, the air would be fresh and sparkling clean, the fog turned to mist and soft clouds, and the traffic and noise really gearing up.

Steve would slip back into the Avengers' elevator, and when he stepped out of it and into the penthouse, every corner would be flooded with golden light, the city laid out below him like a painting of chrome and glass. He would stop off in the kitchen for two mugs of coffee, and take them into the bedroom, where Tony might drag him back into bed for cuddles and kisses and maybe soft, sweet sex, or into the shower, for more athletic fun, or maybe they would just stand at the window and watch the world wake up together.

Yeah, foggy mornings were one of his favorite things about the 21st century.


	2. Steve Rogers, Bob Ross, and memes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompted by… honestly? Binge-watching Joy of Painting on Hulu last week

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might as well mention, I'm an OT3 sort of person in general. For this fandom, it's definitely Steve/Tony/Bucky and Clint/Phil/Natasha, so those are going to be the most natural for me to write. (None of which is actually relevant to this chapter, but it's 3am, what do you want from me?)

The Hulk flew backwards, smashing shoulder-first into a stand of trees at the edge of the park. The gang members who were using him as a volleyball while high on, apparently, vaped Chitauri blood, high-fived each other and cheered. He snarled as he picked himself out of the wreckage, and threw himself at the gang with renewed enthusiasm.

Clint sighed and clucked over the comms. “Well, those aren't happy little trees anymore...”

Tony swooped over them, then over Hulk's head, firing his repulsors at the feet of the gang members, trying to corral them. “Can we call it a happy little mistake, maybe paint in a broken down barn?”

Steve flung his Shield at a few of the stragglers and leaped over a couple of others to catch it. “OK, so I'm pretty sure you guys are making a reference of some sort, but I have no clue what.”

Clint gasped in a breath dramatic enough that Steve almost asked him if he'd been hurt. “Tony... Oh, my GOD, Tony! Steve!! Steve has never seen Bob Ross!”

Iron Man stuttered to a stop in midair, and Tony's response was as close to reverent as he ever got. “We get to introduce Captain Artist to Bob Ross...” And then he was swooping again, and his voice was gleeful. “Oh, we are going to have to record his face for posterity! JARVIS, make a note.”

The AI's voice was dry as ever. “So noted, sir. Adding episodes to the archive now.”

Tony whooped. “Awesome, so, we finish the battle, we turn these idiots over to SHIELD, we get takeout, we marathon some public television goodness!”

*A*A*

Steve was hooked from the first episode. He loved Ross' attitude that anyone can learn to paint, and his gentle demeanor as he described everything he was doing. True to his word, Tony got several pictures of Steve's enthralled face that evening, but by the fourth episode, the combination of the battle, the heavy takeout food, and Ross' soothing voice had most of them ready to pass out. One by one they wandered off to bed, but Steve stayed up all night watching episode after episode. (He was not ashamed to say he got a little teary at the one done entirely in grayscale.)

The next morning, he had JARVIS help him find the biggest art supply store in Manhattan, and he spent half the day and what seemed like a truly obscene amount of money on paints, brushes, canvases, and of course the easel and palette. After lunch, he set up and started following along to the videos.

His first few tries were near-perfect replicas of Ross' efforts, but soon he began to branch out. The first one he really liked, that he felt was truly his own, he gave to Tony as a thank you for letting them move into his home. (It was of a beach at moonrise, and Tony absolutely loved it. He hung it over his bar, where he could see it every day, and show it off to everyone who visited.) When Pepper saw it (was shown it by a proud Tony) she started talking to Steve about art in general and his influences and process in particular. The next original (a mountain-and-river scene) went to her. 

Soon enough Steve moved beyond Ross' instruction (though he kept watching episodes whenever he could) and into creations of his own imagination. He was pretty pleased with most of these, but he wasn't quite sure what to do with them, so they ended up leaning against the walls of his suite, sometimes two and three deep. He went back to the store for paints and canvases so many times, the employees actually got over their awe enough to have conversations with him.

The next challenge Steve set himself was recreating scenes he'd seen in his life. For once he actually blessed his prodigious memory, since he could just close his eyes and perfectly picture a field in France or a mountain in Italy. These ones he titled, usually with just the location and the date. Having them out of his head and onto the canvas, Steve realized he wanted to share them. Yes, he'd been to those places as a soldier, but he didn't have to remember them that way; he could remember them as an artist, and help others see the beauty even in war. 

*A*A*

He invited Pepper up to look them all over (awkwardly reassuring her that it wasn't a come-on of any sort) and advise him on what to do with them now. He was profoundly embarrassed when she was struck dumb for a long moment. “Steve... I... These...” She pressed a hand to the base of her throat, then turned to him with shining eyes. “They're remarkable. If you want to put them in a gallery or a museum, or up for auction, I- They'd be hugely popular, even if your name is never attached to them. If you do put your name on them, I, I can't imagine...” She took another slow turn, eyes jumping from one to the next. “You'll be called the next Hopper.”

“I- _Edward_ Hopper? What?” He was blushing so hard he thought he might catch fire. “No. I mean, I'm not bad, really, but I'm not that-”

She faced him full-on, put a hand on his forearm, and looked him straight in the eye. “Steve. These paintings are gorgeous, and I know gorgeous. Get used to being praised for this, it's going to keep happening.” She smiled at him, and he smiled helplessly back.

They both startled a moment later at the sound of Tony knocking on the doorframe (after he'd stuck his head in). “Hey, Pep. JARVIS said you were up here. What's up, Rogers, trying to seduce my CEO? Looking to get a sugar mama?”

Steve jerked away, his face back to bright red, even as he shook his head frantically. “No, nothing like- it's my art, I- um...”

Pepper took pity on him. “Tony, _look_ at these! I know you're clueless about art, but look!” She picked up a couple of canvases at random and shoved them toward him. 

Tony barely got his hands on them in time, but when he could take a good look, he whistled quietly between his teeth. “Wow, yeah, these are seriously good. And, what, you're trying to figure out what to do with them?”

Steve nodded and scrubbed at the back of his head. “Yeah, basically. Pepper says they'll be popular, I was thinking, maybe, auction them off? For charity? I mean, the whole point is that I don't want to just leave them in here where nobody but us will see them, you know? I guess I could donate them to the MoMA or the Smithsonian or something, but if I can use 'em to do some good, that's better, right?”

Pepper started to nod earnestly, but Tony laughed a little. “Steve-o, I gotta tell you, the Avengers know you, but everyone else thinks of you as a soldier. They're never gonna believe you painted these yourself. You know, not that you shouldn't do the charity auction thing, it's a good idea, just, there might be a hurdle or two.”

Pepper frowned. “It's a lot harder to authenticate a modern artist...”

Steve cleared his throat uncomfortably. “What if... Maybe I could paint one right there, in front of people? Show them what I can do?”

Pepper brightened back up. “Oh, wow, yeah. We'll get a small gallery, hang them all, have a cocktail hour with mingling, and you painting, and then auction them all off, maybe starting or ending with the live demo one. That's fantastic, I don't think anyone's ever done that before, just selling the tickets is going to be a gold mine! OK, do you want the proceeds to go to a veterans' organization, or an art scholarship, or-”

Steve nodded sharply. “Veterans'.” He suddenly turned a little shy. “I heard something about a group called Wounded Warriors?”

*A*A*

The night of the auction found Steve nervous as all get-out. He wasn't even letting himself think about the bids the pieces were likely to get, just reminding himself over and over that the money would all be going to help soldiers get art therapy and learn to see beauty again. No, what really had him freaked out was the prospect of having an audience while he painted. He'd practiced that part a little, working in the communal living room while the rest of the team and some of their adjuncts had been there too, socializing, but it wasn't the same. He knew he'd be as much of a performing monkey with those brushes in his hand as he ever had been with the USO tour, and there was a part of him that was full of sick dread that the performance would sour painting for him entirely and he'd never go back to it after tonight. He didn't think it likely, but the worry was there nonetheless.

So here he stood, in the middle of the gallery space, the easel and canvas set up in front of him, palette in one hand and brush in the other, waiting (and trying not to tremble) as people in much fancier clothes than him filtered in. Finally Pepper came out, made a little speech, and gave him his cue. He did his best to tune everything else out and just concentrate on his painting, a beach on Montauk he and Bucky had once gone to before the war; he was so successful at that that he didn't tune back in to the crowd until he was finishing the piece and signing it. He blinked and looked around, and realized there were people _watching_ him just as said people burst into applause.

Steve instantly turned bright red, and barely managed to keep from fleeing to a bathroom or office or something for the rest of the night. Instead he latched on to Tony, who obligingly chattered on about everything and nothing to distract him from the auction and the almost painfully high prices people were willing to pay for his works. In the end, though, they raised a fantastic amount of money for the veterans, Steve had gotten commissions for more paintings, including a mural at the VA, and he felt, for the first time in maybe ever, that people were seeing him as a creator, not just a fighter.

Although, of course, the modern world being what it was, the paintings were not the only images that became famous from that night. The press photographer had gotten a shot of him standing and waiting at the beginning of the night, and the internet had gotten a hold of it, and now people were editing all sorts of crazy things onto that blank canvas. Some of them were even adding jokes or surrealist sayings, and they were all passing the various versions around, sharing them with each other to get a laugh. People who might never in their lives pick up a paintbrush were still creating art and sharing it with friends and strangers alike.

He thought, of everything he had helped happen that night, he might be proudest of that.


	3. The Flash of Your Smile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> College AU/ prompt: “I'm an amateur photographer and that cute boy would be the perfect muse” (non-powered/modern)

Tony was soaking up a rare moment of sun before he disappeared back into MIT's robotics labs when he heard a familiar, hated sound: a camera shutter going off. He turned, already reaching for the damn thing. “Hey, no paparazzi, dammit.”

“Oh, I, um... Sorry?” The photographer in question was a kid, maybe his own age, who had drawn the camera (a big, clunky thing from _at least_ 20 years ago, which meant ( _shudder_ ) before digital) instinctively against his slender chest. “I'm, um... not paparazzi?” He gave Tony an awkward, hopeful smile. Tony smiled back a little, automatically taking in the kid's shock of blond hair, huge blue eyes, and (oh, _hello_ ) plush red lips. His smile widened a bit, then a bit more as he took in his body, somewhere between wiry and bony (but in a sexy way) as it peeked out from a paint-stained t-shirt and ripped jeans. Apparently the smile made him nervous, because he started babbling. “I'm actually a student at MICA, I'm doing this photography class, and I just, you looked so pretty sitting in the sun like that, and oh, God, you're Tony Stark, aren't you? I am so sorry, I don't have to print that one-”

Tony knew he was grinning by now. “You thought I looked pretty?” The other boy blushed, his whole face suddenly bright red, and opened and closed his mouth a couple of times. “No, please, go on.”

The kid licked his lips, took a deep breath, and stepped forward, holding out a hand. “Hi. I'm Steve. I'm very pleased to make your acquaintance, and would you like to pose for some pictures for me?” He bit his lower lip, and Tony wanted very badly to bite it for him.

Tony took his hand, shook it briefly, then used it to pull Steve in til the camera was pressed against both their chests. “I'm pretty happy to meet you, too.” He leaned in and brushed his lips across Steve's ear. “If you play your cards right, I might even let you take some pictures you can't show your professors.” OK, so maybe cameras weren't _entirely_ bad...


	4. Clint Can Cook

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a bit of head canon I wanted to get out there

The division of labor was very clear in the Barton household: Dad brought home money (in theory, when he had a job and didn't spend his pay on booze that was practically moonshine), Mom did the cooking and cleaning, and Clint and Barney did all the other chores, like mowing the lawn (when it could be persuaded to grow in the first place). The circus followed a similar philosophy, in having one person who cooked for everybody. And SHIELD had cafeterias and canteens and take-out on stake-outs and all those modern conveniences.

But somehow Clint had still learned not just to cook, but to love cooking. (Maybe it had to do with the fact that whenever they got a moment alone together, his mom taught him her favorite recipes. He'd never say if it did.) And as a sniper, rather than a planner or an intelligence-gathering asset, he tended to have a lot of free time in interesting locations in the beginning stages of ops. 

So he collected meals. He would wander the streets until his nose led him to an interesting restaurant or food truck or whatever, he would get something to eat, and then he would turn on the charm to cadge a recipe or two out of the cook. (Sometimes they guarded their secrets too closely for that to work, but he had no problem picking up and repeating the process somewhere else.) He would crowd as close as he thought he could get away with, watching their hands and their movements, the measurements and the precise height of a gas flame, and usually by the end of the day he would be making the dish to serve to patrons. 

He didn't usually cook just for himself, though. Since he'd learned mostly from chefs, it tended to be large-batch stuff, and he didn't want to fill a fridge he hardly saw with leftovers that would just rot or get freezer burn. (Not to mention the hassle of gathering all the ingredients, and storing a giant wok, and explaining the smells to the neighbors...) But when he had a group to cook for (as he so frequently did now that he lived in Avengers Tower), he could make stir fries and curries and ceviche that even Tony Freakin Stark couldn't get enough of.

He still couldn't manage a fried egg over easy.


	5. Wrong Number, Right Answer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Imagine Person A of your OTP texting their best friend “I think I like Person B” but accidentally sending it to Person B

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This past weekend was Queer Pride in my city, so you get some Stony feels!

When Steve heard the chime, it took him a moment to remember that it was his phone's text message noise, which was odd, because no one ever text messaged him; they all assumed he was more comfortable with voice calls, but he actually liked the messages that were like telegrams, but infinitely faster. He couldn't even imagine who might be contacting him anyway, since Natasha, Clint, and Phil were on assignment, Bruce was in rural Kenya with Doctors Without Borders, Thor was on Asgard, and Tony had just come home, drunk but not noticeably smashed, from some gala or other, and gone nearly straight up to bed. If he'd had anything to say to Steve, he could have said it when he was filling his water glass. Steve picked up his StarkPhone curiously and swiped across the screen.

_Rhooooodeeeyyyy.... yoy havce to hellp ne gert overthids crrrrsh om steeeeeve_

Steve blinked at the screen several times. First he was aware that the message had been sent to the wrong person, and he shouldn't read it, but by then he was trying to decipher the rest of the thing, and of course his eyes landed on his own name. He checked the 'sender' box, reflexively and without any actual hope, but wonder of wonders, it really was Tony. His breath caught, and he forced it back into rhythm as he went back and retranslated the message from Drunk to standard English. Yeah, it really did say what he thought it did. He was responding before he could think about it.

_What crush?_

Two more came in quick succession.

_Yoy knoe, teh 1 on the sruprehoit suiperstr8 sdopersoiklder wh lives w/me  
Th 1 in te wooooooondrfl tighyt shirts whs sooo much bttr thn th stroies dsad tol_

Steve's chest was so tight he thought for a moment he was having an asthma attack. Tony really had a crush on him? He'd never given any indication, unless... Were there modern codes? Had he been missing Tony's signals? Before he could _begin_ to figure out any of it, another message came in.

_Oh, hahah, 'whsat crish'. Jusrtt casuse I tsakled yr ear offfor yrs boiut him..._

Years? But they'd only known each other months. Oh, he _had_ to respond now...

_So you should say something to him_

His heart was in his throat. Maybe he should just go up and talk to Tony. But he wanted to get over this crush, right? Was Tony not actually-

_Duh. Ddi u misssteh pasrt whrer hes srt8? Nd prbly a 40s homomompjhobe. Don wan 2 gt btean uop._

What? He would never!

_Captain America wouldn't beat you up for being queer!_

Would Tony really have a crush on someone he thought would _hit_ him? Did he think so little of Steve? Or was it of himself? Steve knew his thoughts were racing but he couldn't bring them back under control.

_Fimne, no breatingssses. Hed stil lesacve canhtha e thta_

Leave? Why would Steve leave? Even without the misspellings, this was one of the strangest conversations Steve had ever been a part of. He needed to-

_he aklreday hatres me bhuy at lessssst hes hereere right/?._

Oh, God, what? Hating Tony was the furthest thing from Steve's mind! 

_Why would you think he hates you?_

But he was also already moving for the stairs up to Tony's floor. He had to clear this up before Tony spent another night thinking so very many wrong things about him. And maybe, just maybe, if he played his cards right, he might get what he'd been hoping for for months.

_2 drnk 2 goov er thius agan Whas uip w/u 2nijght?_

Steve paused in the penthouse living room to read, and almost sighed aloud. Apparently Tony had had the utterly wrong impression for a while now. Steve would just have to set him to rights. He was glad the bedroom door was ajar so he could slip silently through it and lean against the side of the closet, taking a moment to watch Tony, disheveled and hunched over his phone screen, almost swimming in his giant bed. “So I'm guessing 'Rhodes' and 'Rogers' are right next to each other in your phone book.” Tony's head snapped up and around, and then his face scrunched up, whether at the abrupt motion in his drunken state, or at Steve's presence, Steve couldn't tell, but he took a couple of steps forward anyway, wanting to say his piece before Tony could throw him out. “I'm glad, though. Honestly, the only thing I'm upset about is that it took so long for me to find out. How did I not know?”

Tony looked a little green around the gills, but he gamely pushed himself more upright, clutching the blanket to his chest. “Oh, God, I've been texting you this whole time? I _thought_ Rhodey was acting a little weird... Are you here to tell me you're leaving? I'm sorry, I can get over it, I swear-”

Steve covered the last few feet to Tony's bedside in a couple of swift steps. “You'd better not. 'Cause then I'd have to get over mine, and I'd rather not.”

Tony gaped at him like a landed fish. “I- Your what? What are you-?”

Steve planted one knee on the bed and leaned in slowly. “I've had a crush on you for a while now. I just, I had no idea you were interested in men, let alone me. I can't stop thinking about-” And then either he got close enough, or Tony's drunk brain processed enough, and they were kissing. At first just a press of lips to lips, and even that was enough to set Steve's blood on fire, but then Tony opened his mouth a little, and Steve slipped his tongue into it, tasting champagne and toothpaste and coconut, and somebody moaned, or maybe they both did.

After a timeless moment, Tony pulled away, panting a little for breath. “Oh, wow, right into my favorite dream, that was good champagne...” He grinned, happy and loose, and leaned back in.

Steve kissed him back, almost helplessly, for another long moment, then shifted away, leaving a hand on Tony's shoulder. “Favorite dream, hmm? I have some questions, but I'm thinking they should wait til morning.” He considered his options, and decided to go for at least part of what he wanted. “If I get into bed with you, do you think you can refrain from molesting me until we've had a chance to talk?”

Tony blinked a couple of times. “You want to sleep here... and _not_ have sex? I've gotta be awake, this is too weird to be a dream.”

Steve blushed, but he pushed gamely on. “See? That, there. I don't want you to wake up and think us having sex was a dream. Or a nightmare. I want to do this right.”

Tony practically melted in his arms, his face almost brighter than the arc reactor with his beaming grin. “That was almost painfully romantic, Cap. I really hope I remember it in the morning.” He lifted the corner of the blanket. “Now come cuddle me, you unbelievable sap.” Steve crawled in beside Tony and gathered him into his arms. They kissed again, and fell asleep with smiles on their faces.


End file.
